Our Lectures Are Open for Business
Of course, the Imperial Academy is the empire's academy. But it's not exclusively for the empire alone. Foreigners can enroll too, as long as they meet the conditions and get prior approval.
This stems from the academy's official purpose on the surface: training warriors to fight sea monsters. Sure, as a side effect, it produces weapons that shine in human wars... Anyway, it's not some brutal facility that disrupts peace. Even without using this world's academies as examples, I recall that back on Earth, talented people from friendly nations with strong militaries would study military strategy abroad.
In that sense, coming to study at the Angras Empire—the world's top in knight training—isn't all that unusual. The risk of talent being poached by the empire can be mitigated by only sending patriotic youth from the start. And any leak of info on future knights—who'll be asymmetric powerhouses for their nations—is offset by the chance to scout the empire's own reserve knights.
That's why friendly nations have been sending students here for ages.
But this time feels a bit special.
The rattling train jolted along, shaking the plush seats in the car—and my body with them. In my hands, swaying every which way, were three sheets of paper: student records from the Imperial Academy. I'd received them before departure.
Obviously, students who get special info packets like this aren't ordinary.
So now we'll have three highborn ladies all at once...
Being admitted to the academy means you've shown potential as asymmetric warfare material. No "ordinary" students by objective standards. But even among them, some stand out as truly exceptional—like these three whose files I was reading.
3rd-year promotion candidate: Tina Beal Angras. Official title: Second Princess of the Angras Empire.
1st-year enrollee: Saki Barina. Official title: Third Princess of the Croi-Treta Union.
1st-year enrollee: Riley Tiwe Kuntak. Official title: Heir to the Groomha Viscounty. Or, self-proclaimed First Empress of the Groomha Empire.
Eh, the first two aren't a big deal. Our empire's princess is important, naturally, but she won't cause trouble. I just need to bow politely whenever we cross paths. The Union princess probably won't be much different. Unlike our princess, who's adapted over two years here, her academy life is uncharted territory... but what could go wrong? She's been sent in the spirit of burying old hatchets and moving toward friendship. Rumors say she's mild-mannered and kind. Should be fine.
...The real issue is this one.
My gaze shifted to the last file. The Groomha Viscounty. Descendants of that count who, during the empire's East Continent colonization, suddenly backstabbed us and declared independence with the natives. Even with their homeland across the sea, making full mobilization tough, they still fought the mighty Angras Empire to a judged victory.
From our side, they were a thorn in the eye. We probed them repeatedly for "retribution," but their survival speaks for itself. We couldn't crush them properly and settled for mental gymnastics like "They're still technically our vassals and subjects."
They're the epitome of battle tribes. The consensus—from the empire to many regions—is that they dumped every point into combat, skimping on brains and politics. Their policies and diplomacy often run on whims and impulses rather than grand strategy.
From that angle, their top heir suddenly applying to the Imperial Academy isn't that weird. If their leadership wants it, they do it. Ignoring how unlikely they'd even think of it... it's plausible.
But the process is the problem. Groomha would've just declared, "Our empress is enrolling—deal with it," instead of this formal application. If we objected, they'd flex with military demos or outright force. No way they'd play along with "We'll pretend to be your vassals formally."
Two big red flags here. First: a brainy mutant emerged among those barbarians. Not impossible—even a middling genius could dream this up. In diplomacy, it's routine.
But getting that "someone" to override internal opposition and secure authority to move their empress? That's another story. In a place where "I don't listen to the weak," gaining that clout ain't easy.
"......"
Okay, even that's manageable. A strong, semi-smart talent from a not-so-friendly nation? Worth watching. Extra so in a world where individuals can topple mountains.
But is it urgent enough for immediate action? Nah.
The real kicker: an unknown puppetmaster dropped their heir on us without warning. We don't know motives or goals, yet here's this tricky-to-touch figure studying abroad. Officially, they just want to join the peace vibe—no ulterior motives. No one buys that crap. Even from a normal nation, it'd be dismissed; from muscle-brained savages who believe might makes right? Laughable.
But once you start doubting their sincerity, another task arises: Why did Riley Tiwe Kuntak come here? We need answers.
So they didn't dispatch me to shadow her and pry out secrets... right? If so, they'd send intel pros, not a lowly bandswoman like me, impressive mentor notwithstanding.
I did get carte blanche for worst-case intervention and reports. But that's contingency only, in my view. Gotta spot the oddity and tail it first before any "summary judgment."
And again: full investigations aren't grunt percussionist work.
So... decoy? Parading me, the 2nd Combat Military Band name-drop, to draw scrutiny while real spies dig for the black hand behind the viscountess.
Hm. My theory holds water. If true, my job's simple. Predecessor Colonel Bultgen handled lectures too, but they said I don't need to.
Just nominally bug the viscountess and hang with the coeds!
×
"Long live His Imperial Majesty."
"Long live His Imperial Majesty. Welcome, Captain Yael Jeffrison."
The Imperial Academy dean's office. First-timers are often surprised. "Spartan" or "humble" don't quite capture it—more like barren or desolate.
The only decoration: the academy crest on the wall. Otherwise, just a half-rusted steel desk and chair. The desk has a few essentials: pen holder, admin papers, desk clock, metronome, wired phone.
"Not much of a reception room, is it?"
"N-no, ma'am."
"You can be honest."
The dean chuckled heartily, but the woman's—Captain Yael Jeffrison's—face stayed stiff. Maintaining composure with three stars twinkling right there? No ordinary human.
Yael dropped her salute but remained oddly rigid.
"Anyway, welcome aboard. Looking forward to working together."
"Thank you for this honor."
"Thank your predecessor. She recommended you as instructor."
"Predecessor... Colonel Bultgen, ma'am?"
The prof who stepped down over racism issues. The dean nodded with a wry smile at the name.
"She said we could trust you with the students."
"Y-you flatter me."
"Hmm. Aren't you the one-woman army hero? Held a fortress solo against monsters. Plenty capable, I'd say."
"They were sea trash—mostly sub-wedge grunts."
Well, if she downplays it... let's shelve that. The dean smiled at the new instructor.
"Details from other profs, but any questions?"
"None... Wait, one thing."
"Shoot."
"I lack musical talent. But Colonel Bultgen was bandswoman, assisting yeongchang in certain lectures."
Especially the "Practical Magic Basics" course Yael inherits—she handled both lecturing and playing. Yael can't play military band, so another bandswoman as TA, surely.
"Who'll I be teaming with?"
Barring issues, her partner/assistant for three years. Natural to ask ahead.
The dean smiled. "Yura Konstantia from the Konstantia family. Another Bultgen pick."
"Konstantia... That 'her'? The frontwoman...?"
Yael's eyes widened, pinkish-red irises tinged with dismay.
"Probably the one you mean. Only Yura Konstantia in the family is bandswoman now."
Plus, the army's most infamous "Konstantia." Gotta be her.
Yael nodded unconsciously. Frontwoman. Intel's nightmare. Pillar-breaker. False savior. Unforgettable to any in the imperial forces.
"Really? Even so, her at the academy...?"
"Ah, speak of the devil."
The dean's ears twitched. "Second Lieutenant Yura Konstantia, assigned to the academy as of today. May I enter?"
"......!"
"Come in."
A knock soon followed. Yael flinched. The dean stayed serene, granting entry.
The door—another plain slab—opened. A woman in crisp gray imperial uniform limped in.
"Long live His Imperial Majesty."
"Long live His Imperial Majesty. Perfect timing, Miss Konstantia. Wanted to introduce someone."
"Introduce?"
Her low, steady voice. Pumpkin eyes flashed menacingly under her forelock, sweeping over Yael appraisingly. Yael clenched her fist at the chill.
"Captain Yael Jeffrison. Miss Konstantia, lie...?"
"Second lieutenant."
"......?"
"Second lieutenant. Dispatched from the 2nd Combat Military Band, so apply my temporary rank as-is."
Yura indicated her left armband: yellow with a black diamond.
Yael's eyes bugged in confusion. Sure, some insist on lower temp ranks despite eligibility for full—strong unit pride, prioritizing role over perks... whatever.
But there's limits. She's sub-percussion in a band, not even main. Wars bring chaos, so units prep succession: commander → main perc → designated sub-perc.
Those backups get dual-faced armbands: reverse matches commander's top rank for emergencies; obverse fixed at second lieutenant.
Multiple heads barking orders? Chaos for any org, deadly for beat keepers. So suppress ego unless inheriting: sub-perc temp rank warns "stay vigilant."
Second lieutenant equates to warrant officer—rock bottom for officers.
Yael had seen rigid types demand lower treatment... but never down to second lt.
"Don't overhype me" vs. "Treat me like a private"—worlds apart.
Shocking first impression, though they'd never met.
Gods. Stubborn blockhead rumors were true, but not this level...
My superiors dwindle, so fewer master candidates...!
...The truth differed, but even mind-reading wouldn't change the blockhead verdict.